The Angel's War
by TheAngelsHaveThePhoneBox
Summary: SEQUEL TO THAT WHICH HOLDS THE IMAGE. Life. All normal and stuff. With jobs and houses and boring-y, woring-y things like that. Normality, as Harry Potter realises, does not attract mad men in little blue boxes, so any hope of seeing his old friend the Doctor again is pretty slim. But then Ginny Weasley notices the sky is falling, and everything goes completely to hell.
1. Chapter 1

**(A.N.) For any new readers: This story is a sequel to a previous Harry Potter/Doctor Who crossover I completed about a year ago. It's called 'That Which Holds The Image', and the link can be found in my profile. **

**For anyone else: Hi! Hope you enjoy. Here's chapter one...**

* * *

The word was out, and the race was on.

The ships set sail. The skies grew crowded. Someone opened fire, and everyone else followed. Whole worlds burned if they happened to be caught in the middle, caught in the path, caught in the race. There were screams, and death, and giants of light streaking across the stars. And all of them; every voice, every army, were all telling each other the same thing. They had to be first. They had to find it before the others. They had to be the one to hold it.

The word was out. The race was on. The armies were coming, and whoever got to Harry Potter first would win the Universe.

* * *

**THE ANGEL'S WAR**

* * *

It was Ginny Weasley who first noticed the sky was falling.

The world they lived in after the fall of Voldemort and the end of the Wizarding War was in some ways just as mad as it had been before the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry, Ron and Hermione were still in hiding, and still lived in fear of being attacked should they dare enter any populated Wizarding area; only this time it wasn't the Death Eaters they were afraid of, but the paparazzi.

Since becomming the saviours of society, public interest in them had taken a bit of a spike. Everything they did now was accompanied by swarms of adoring admirers, along with a few dozen journalists eager to get a snap of what the great heroes did next.

The situation grew so dire that there came a day, a year or two after the war ended, that Harry reached his breaking point. He went out and bought himself the most reclusive cottage he could find, away from fans and stalkers and Rita Skeeter's growingly ridiculous stunts aimed at getting a picture and a puff piece out of him. It was a lovely stretch of land surrounded by fields of corn and wheat and other farm-y stuff that he didn't grow or tend, but that just happened to provide a nice fencing.

But they were sharp, the blades of grass on those corn stalks. Ginny Weasley could tell you that – they cut into her knees and calves and the bits of skin exposed by her shorts as she sprinted through them.

As the lights from the upstairs window of the Potter residence started to peek over the giant stalks, Ginny risked another glance behind her, just as scared by what she saw as she had been a minute ago when she'd seen it for the first time.

She'd been walking towards the spot she always used to apparated and disapparate when she came to visit Harry. They had spent the day together; she'd filled him in on Ron and Hermione's latest spat and reconcile, helped him clean those awkward spots around the house that only Molly Weasley's child knew how to get to, and then finally sat outside and watched the sun go down, relishing the chance to be together without fear of death or gossip-page pictures being taken.

They'd kissed goodbye, promised to do this again soon, and she'd set off home. Only she hadn't made it to her apparition spot. She'd turned and started running about two feet away from it.

Harry was in the kitchen washing their dinner plates when she burst through the back door, with cheeks as red as her head and a panting chest, gasping for air.

"Harry," she said. "You've got to come see this."

This was how Harry ended up being dragged by the hand through his own cornstalks, repeatedly trying to stop and ask his girlfriend to explain, and repeatedly being tugged into walking again.

"Ginny, just tell me," he was insisting, struggling to see her now that darkness was settling in.

"Can't," she replied, hair swishing as she shook her head vehemently. "Wouldn't even know how to, you'll just have to see if for yourself. Oh, god, I hope you can see it. I hope haven't just gone mental. That would be awful."

"Gin, you're not mental," Harry reassured her. "You're unruly at times, sure, but not mental."

She glared at him over her shoulder. "Shut up."

She pushed the last tall stalk of corn or wheat or whatever other farm-y thing it was aside, clearing the way for them to look up at the sky. Harry's jaw dropped. Ginny's stomach to twisted again.

"What," she asked, "_the hell,_ is that?"

Above them, standing quite apart from the other littering of stars in the clear night sky, was a legion of enormous, shining lights, lined up in perfect formation, and getting bigger by the second.

"I really hope," said Harry quietly, with a squeeze of Ginny's hand, "that it's just Rita Skeeter."

But it wasn't. It was something much worse.

Because Harry, Ron and Hermione had done the impossible: they had made it through the Wizarding War with their lives. But this, approaching from the heavens, getting closer by the second, was an entirely different war.

It was the Angel's war.

* * *

_End of Chapter One._


	2. Chapter 2

"So," asked Hermione. "What do _you_ think it was?"

Ron entered the room from the kitchen, balancing a tray with three cups of tea and frowning at her.

"Well if he knew that he wouldn't be here would he?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, Ronald. But Harry does have a tendency to reach a conclusion himself but not accept it until he finds someone who agrees with him."

Ron placed the tray on the coffee table, and sat on the couch next to her. "Ah, of course. See, that's what I get for missing one class in _Understating Harry Potter's Psyche_."

"Look," Harry finally cut in, "I don't know if this is flirting or actual arguing, but could it wait till after I leave?"

It was the morning after Harry and Ginny had witnessed the unexplainable formation of lights in the sky above his house. He had checked the _Prophet_, the muggle papers, even had a quick flick through the latest edition of _The Quibbler_. But no one else seemed to have reported seeing anything like they had. So, with no other place to turn, he naturally sought out the cleverest people he knew. And Ron was there, too.

They were sat in the small flat that Hermione shared with Ginny in London, and having explained the event to both of his best friends, he had opened the floor up to suggestions, but thus far their replies had been less than satisfying.

"Are you sure it wasn't just the moon?" asked Ron.

"For the third time, Ron, yes," said Harry irritably. "How thick do you think me and your sister are that we would be scared stiff by the moon?"

"Well," Ron considered. "Maybe not you, but my sister?"

Hermione slapped his knee scoldingly. Harry gave a bored sigh from his seat on the coffee table opposite them.

"Sorry," said Hermione, returning her attention to him. "But you never answered my question. If you had to guess, what would you say it was?"

Harry shrugged awkwardly. "The first temptation is to say it's Voldemort come back to life, or leftover Death Eaters, or someone else trying to kill me – because my history says that's the most likely answer. But..." He paused. This next part felt silly. "I don't know, it's weird. Looking at it, I just couldn't shake the feeling that this was... bigger than that. You know?"

"How so?" asked Hermione.

"Bigger than just some elaborate attempt on my life. Bigger than some mindless vendetta. Bigger than me. You have to understand, these weren't just lights hanging a few feet in the air. They were at star-level. These were objects in space, getting closer. I think... I mean, I reckon... it might have been extra-terrestrial."

Hermione and Ron, ever the couple, gave him the exact same facial reaction – the raised eyebrows, the mouth twisting into a little 'o', embarrassed fidgeting in seat.

"Don't look at me like that!" Harry pleaded.

"It is a bit out there, mate." Ron pointed out.

Harry stood up from the coffee table, and started pacing. "Hey, let's just remember that there are about a billion muggles in the world that would swear there's no such thing as magic. In the world we live in, is it really so hard to think of intelligent life elsewhere in the Universe?"

"No," said Hermione casually. "I've always personally believed in the possibility of alien life. But that doesn't mean to say they've taken to hanging about above your house at night."

"Well how else would you explain it, then?"

"It could be a million things, Harry. Aliens is a bit of random conclusion."

Harry sat back down stubbornly. There was a brief silence, interrupted by a flapping noise. An envelop had fluttered into the living room and glided over to Ron where, in a very matter-of-fact tone, it said:

"You need to go to the bank."

"Oh," Ron replied, getting to his feet with a start. "Yeah, thanks." The envelope bowed modestly and, it's job done, proceeded to disintegrate in front of them. Ron turned to the others. "I need to go to the bank."

Harry nodded to the tiny pile of ashes. "So I've heard."

"Ron," said Hermione crossly. "I asked you to stop using those things for trivial matters. I need them for my work."

"I'll get you a new pad in Flourish and Blotts," he replied. He threw his jacket on, patted Harry on the shoulder and walked over to the fireplace.

"Diagon Alley," he said, and with a pinch of floo powder, he was gone.

"That boy," said Hermione, with a disgruntled tone but a hint of a grin,"will never change."

"Right," said Harry. "So back to the lights."

Hermione gave him a sad smile.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but short of seeing them for myself, there's not a whole lot I can suggest. They didn't cause you any harm, they disappeared as quickly as they showed up; maybe it was just a one-off. An unexplained stellar event." She watched him take this in without satisfaction. Adopting a softer tone, she added, "The war's over Harry. This is the rest of your life now. You really don't need to look over your shoulder anymore."

"I know," said Harry. "It was just weird. That's all. I suppose I just wish I had someone who knew about this stuff that I could talk to, you know?"

"Like the Doctor?" said Hermione.

Harry sighed. Hermione always was perceptive.

"First name that popped into my head," he said. "It just seemed like something he'd be into. I mean, he was all about weird stuff like this."

Hermione leant across to pat his hand.

"I know it's hard, having lost Sirius, and Dumbledore, and even Remus. Maybe you're getting so bothered about these lights because deep down you just want someone like that to talk to every now and then?"

Harry reluctantly considered this. "Maybe."

"And it wouldn't be totally impossible, you know?" said Hermione, "To track him down?"

Harry gave her a dubious look.

"Hermione, it's been almost six years. If he wanted to talk, he knows to where to find me. Plus, he's a time traveller. That means he could be anywhere, and you and I know that better than most. I think it's safe to say none of us will be seeing the Doctor anytime soon."

* * *

Ron rubbed his temple with his fingers, trying to quell the banging headache ranging inside.

It was extremely warm inside Gringotts, possibly due to the large number of wizards and witches crowding the main hall. Only one goblin was behind the desk to serve the bank's customers, and he himself seemed very distracted, with other goblins coming over to him now and then and whispering. Considering that the elderly witch currently at the front of the line was in the process of plucking her entire savings out of her bottomless purse, knut-by-knut, all of this resulted in a painstakingly slow moving line inside the bank.

When the woman lost count and started again, Ron found himself getting agitated.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" he cried. "Why is there only one window open?"

The goblin looked past the old lady to scowl at him.

"Gringotts is experiencing internal difficulties," he hissed at Ron. "You'll wait your turn and do it quietly!"

"Oi, don't get snippy with me! I'm a regular customer, I deserve some respect."

"Hey," shouted a man from down the line behind Ron. "You're not helping, genius."

"Yeah," agreed a woman from further down. "Just shut up and let him work."

"We've been letting him work for forty-five minutes!" Ron yelled back. "And don't tell me what to do, either!"

As Ron and the strangers began a shouting match, no one noticed the door to the vaults opening, and three people being escorted out. One of them hung back to chat with the goblin at the vault doors, while the other two – a red haired girl and a gangly man – walked towards the exit, grumbling at one another as they did.

" - told you not to touch anything," said the red haired girl, in a thick Scottish accent.

"I fell onto it," replied the boy defensively. "And it multiplied. Ten times! And then ten times after that. Starts to become a bit hard not to touch a golden harp when you're swimming in a pit of hundreds of them."

"Well at least we didn't suffocate," said the red haired girl, just as the two strode past Ron and the shouting crowd of customers. "I knew he had friends in strange places, but on this occasion I'm really glad the Doctor is mates with a load of goblins."

Ron stopped yelling with the other customers. The last snippet of their conversation had caught his attention.

"Hey," said the man he'd been shouting at. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Ron didn't reply. He watched the man and the woman walk to the doors of Gringotts, then stop and wait. It was while he was wondering if he'd heard what he thought he'd heard that Ron felt someone else breeze past him, running to meet up with the man and woman,but having just enough time to pat Ron on the back like one would an old friend.

"Hello, Ron!" said the Doctor brightly as he passed. "How's things? The family all alright? Give my love to Harry and Hermione, eh?"

Ron froze, able only to gaze in wonderment at the back of the Doctor's head, as he bounced towards his companions at the door, floppy fringe and all.

"Doctor!" he was finally able to say. The Doctor didn't hear him. He and his companions walked through the doors. "No – wait!"

Ron tried to rush after him, but between the points stood a crowd of people he'd gotten on the bad side of. He had to push and shove and mumble death threats, so much so that by the time he eventually burst through the doors of Gringotts and cast his eyes all around Diagon Alley, he found no sign of the Doctor or his friends. The only thing that stopped him deciding he'd gone madwas the sound of the TARDIS, just as he remembered from that night so long ago, sweeping through the cobbled street, disappearing into the air.

* * *

_End of Chapter Two._


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione was thoroughly enjoying reading a forty-five page dossier concerning house elf living conditions in Saudi Arabia, when something else pinched her attention. She stood up to look over the walls of her cubicle, where some sort of commotion was taking place at the other end of the office.

"What's going on?" she asked. Terrance, her colleague in the cubicle next to hers, shrugged dismissively.

"Some nutter, as usual."

Hermione sighed. "Why do they always choose here? Of all the floors in this building, what is it about the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that attracts the complete mad and... oh."

"What?" asked Terrance.

"It's my boyfriend."

"Hermione!" Ron yelled, finally catching sight of her and waving frantically.

"Oh, lord," she mumbled. Then she shouted to the ministry guards trying to hold him back at the entrance, "Rob, Geoff, it's alright. He's with me, let him through."

The large, disgruntled guards reluctantly let go of Ron, who dusted himself off and spared them a brief victory smirk, before shooting across the room to Hermione, bumping into the various cubicles and knocking over waste baskets and plant pots as he went.

"Ron, are you trying to get me sacked?" asked Hermione when he finally reached her.

"Why weren't you back at the flat?" said Ron breathlessly. "Where's Harry?"

"He went home, and since you were _supposed_ to be at the bank I thought I'd come into the office and get a bit of work done."

Ron stared at her in wonder. "It's your day off. Only you would willingly come in on – you know what, never mind, it doesn't matter."

"Look, Ron, you know I love your enthusiasm, but if you've shoved your way into the Ministry of Magic because they've sent you the prototype of our Chocolate Frog Cards, I swear to -"

"Hermione, I've just seen the Doctor."

Hermione blinked.

"..._what_?"

"The Doctor. Just now, in Gringotts."

She was half aware that the entire office was staring at the two of them, and ten seconds ago she may have been bothered by that. But sometimes the mere mention of a certain person's name can change everything. The Doctor had one of those names.

"Call for Harry," she said. "I'll get my coat."

As they rushed out of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Terrence, who had been no-so-subtly eavesdropping, was forced to ask, "...Doctor who?"

* * *

"You're _absolutely _sure, Ron?" said Harry for the umpteenth time. "Properly sure?"

"Yes!" said Ron angrily. "The Doctor. All tweed and bowtie and smiley. He patted me on the back and asked how everyone was, then he was just gone."

Hermione and Harry shared a look, and Hermione shrugged.

"That does sound like him, Harry," she said.

Harry looked around again. They had searched every inch of Diagon Alley for evidence of the Doctor, and had ended up back at the steps outside of Gringotts. Harry stared up at the building, as if looking for answer in it's bricks.

"Can't be," he said.

"Harry, I'm not blind," said Ron. "I know what I saw!"

"No, no," Harry cut in. "I believe you. What I mean is, it can't be coincidence."

Hermione crinkled her brow, "Well, no, Harry. It _could_ be coincidence."

"Oh, come off it, Hermione."

"You said it yourself, Harry, the Doctor can go anywhere and anywhen, and this is Diagon Alley. He's probably blown through here a thousand times."

Harry ignored the sensible voice in his head pointing out the truth in this. "All I know is, if you'd seen those lights – oh for goodness sake."

It had taken only one person to notice, and the whisper had spread. There was Harry Potter. _The _Harry Potter! With Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley too. A reunion outside Gringotts.

"We should go," said Hermione quickly, as a crowd started to circle the three of them.

"Can't even have a good old investigation anymore," grumbled Ron.

After a hasty escape from Diagon Alley, mostly caused by Hermione discreetly setting fire to a lamppost, the three of them now sat around Harry's kitchen table in a disgruntled silence. This was unceremoniously broken by an excited squeak from the corner of the room. The three of them turned to glare at Ginny.

"Sorry," she said, unable to hide her smile. "But does this mean I get to find out who the Doctor is now?" Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged noncommittal looks. "Oh come on! That's not fair. I've had to listen to you three mention him in passing for years without anyone willing to provide an explanation. Not my brother, not my best friend, not even my boyfriend. Well, now there's an actual, proper reason to tell me who he is, not just because I feel left out of some weird inside joke."

"It's hard to explain, Ginny," said Hermione kindly. "The Doctor was – or is I should say – a long story."

"A scary story," Ron added.

"You're telling me," chimed Harry.

"Oh this isn't fair!" Ginny wailed, taking a seat at the table. "To not tell me is one thing, to sit there making cool, mysterious comments about it is just plain mean."

Ron grinned at Harry, who feigned scratching his nose to hide his return-smirk from his girlfriend.

"Look, George gave me the afternoon off to come all the way here," said Ginny, pointing out the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes uniform and namebadge she was still wearing. "The least you can do is tell me how you all met him and I didn't."

"Look, Gin," said Harry. "Let's just say, the Doctor would be the perfect person to talk to about a thing like what we saw last night."

Ginny frowned. "Which is another way of saying you won't tell me."

"Yes," said Harry sadly. "Sorry. Not right now, anyway. It's just a long story."

Ginny shook her head. Then she stood up from the table with a dramatic sigh. "Fair enough, I suppose. I mean, I don't tell _you_ all of _my_ secrets. Speaking of which..."

She picked up her jacket and headed for the door, leaving Harry to stare intently at her.

"Oi," he said indignantly. "What secrets?"

She shot him a smile as she passed through the kitchen door. "Oh, sorry Harry. It's a long story."

When she had left, Harry looked back to Ron and Hermione.

"She's just bluffing. She is bluffing, isn't she Hermione? Is she bluffing?"

Hermione merely smiled. "I'd tell you, Harry, but as you're so fond of saying whenever Ron and I have a disagreement, I'd rather not get involved."

She held up a hand, which Ron quickly hi-fived. Harry scowled at them.

"Back to serious business. What are we going to do?"

"I don't think there's anything to do, Harry," said Hermione gently. "Yes, it's strange that Ron met the Doctor the day after you saw something unexplained that you'd like to talk with him about. Strange, yes. But right now, nothing more."

Ron found himself being fixed with a desperate look from Harry.

"Sorry, mate," he told him. "But she's right."

Harry stood up from the table in a huff. There was window above the kitchen sink, and through it Harry could see the last of that day's sunlight just beginning to pale; but none of the strange lights that had hung there the previous evening.

"Maybe you're right," he said finally. (Hermione and Ron, who'd been expecting an outburst, breathed out in relief). "But I don't know. That sky last night, if you had seen it, you'd understand why I made me edgy." He shrugged apologetically, and sat back at the table, where he gave them a thoughtful look. "Just... next time somebody sees the Doctor, don't let him run away."

* * *

Despite her mysterious air, Ginny had actually apparated to nowhere more interesting than the little shop around the corner from the flat she shared with Hermione. Making Harry fret was all well and good, but Ginny had promised Hermione she'd remember to buy milk.

The scene as she walked home that evening was almost picturesque. It was one of those gorgeous summer evenings that always reminded Ginny of childhoods spent at the Burrow The sky was covered in strokes of orange as the sun began to call it day. The last of it's light shined off the pavement of the empty street she walked along. Everything felt calm, and peaceful. She could swear, even, that the sound of the Beach Boys floated in the air.

Then Ginny suddenly stopped. Because she wasn't imagining it: she really could hear the Beach Boys.

Across the little cobbled road she was on, in an alleyway behind the large department store that sat on the corner of the street, there was a man. He was an older bloke, Ginny saw, clad in a leather jacket and with a strange glowing blue object in his hand – all things that would usually cause alarm bells for a young girl walking home alone.

And yet, the man seemed off in his own little world. From somewhere close by, _Don't Worry Baby_ by the Beach Boys was playing softly, and the man was happily singing along. (Though with a very un-Beach Boy Northern accent.)

"_Well, it's been building up inside of me for, oh, I don't know how long. I don't know why, but I keep thinking, something's bound to go wrong_."

For some reason – and honestly, if asked, Ginny wouldn't have the slightest clue why even as she was doing it – she crossed the street and slowly strolled towards the man in the alley. He had what looked to be a dummy, prosthetic arm in his hands, and he was pointing his metal-blue-shiny-gizmo at the plastic fingers. Which, to Ginny's quiet astonishment, wiggled ever so slightly in time with the music.

The man continued singing along; apparently singing _to_ the plastic arm, as one would a newborn baby.

"_But she looks in my eyes, and makes me realise. And she says, don't worry baby._"

Ginny came to a stop just out of the alleyway, in front of the man. There was something about how he was leaning casually against the wall, running his metal device up and down the plastic arm as he sang. Ginny couldn't look away.

"D'you know," the man spoke, letting Bryan Wilson take over the vocals for the moment. "Quite a lot of philosophers believe that intelligent life; wherever they come from, wherever they settle; at some point, will end up resorting to violence."

Ginny quirked an eyebrow. The man had not once looked up from the prostethic arm. She wondered if his words, still spoken in that strange sort of calmy-rough Northern voice, were directed at her, or his plastic friend.

"Could be the nicest bunch of people you've ever met," he continued. "Eventually, one of them will kick off, and sooner or later you'll end up with war. And the philosophers have got a pretty good point, considering. I mean, just look anywhere on this planet – there's as many places at war with each other than there isn't. And it's the same thing on all the other planets. Look up at the stars and you'll be looking at other people and other worlds killing each other over nothing."

Ginny moved forward. Why had she done that? This was a weird guy, in a leather jacket, with a plastic arm, in an alleyway, talking about war on other planets. Why in goodness name was she was walking closer to him, and why was she so drawn in by what he was saying?

"But a long time ago," said the man, still not having spared her so much as a glance, "I stumbled upon something really quite facinating. D'you know what the one thing is that can calm absolutely everyone down? Man or woman, human or otherwise? D'you know what's capable of making something completely bent on death and destruction, suddenly calm, and cool, and content?"

"No," said Ginny, vaguely aware of how misty her voice had gone. "What is it?"

The man looked up at her with starting blue eyes. And he smiled.

"The Beach Boys," he said. He nodded to the fingers on the arm, swaying to the music. "Fantastic, isn't it?"

And Ginny was smiling back. But, like, really, really smiling. They just stood there, two strangers in an empty street, smiling at one another while a plastic arm danced to music coming from nowhere.

"Otherwise?" Ginny said without thought.

"What?" asked the man.

"You said human or otherwise," Ginny clarified. "And other worlds. Are you talking about aliens?"

"Oh. Yeah, I suppose I am. Say hello, then." He waved the plastic arm in her direction. Ginny frowned.

"That's an alien, then, is it?"

"Yep," the man nodded. He looked at her pointedly. "Problem?"

Ginny smirked. "No. It's a free country, so you're free to be as barmy as you like."

The man gave her a toothy grin. "A freedom I'll take full advantage of, thank you very much."

Ginny laughed. Then, quite out of the blue, her brain kicked in and she realised it might be best to part ways with this stranger in the alleyway, no matter how entrancing she apparently found him.

"Well," she said awkwardly. "I better be off. Have a nice night."

"Ta," said the man. "And you. Oh, hang on a mo'." She had begun to walk away when he stopped her. "This shop behind us. Do you come here often?"

Oh, boy. Was the funny older gentleman trying to chat Ginny up? She forced herself not to smile in case she hurt his feelings.

"Err... yeah, I suppose," she answered truthfully.

"Really?" said the man. He gave the back of the building an unimpressed glance. "There's other shops, y'know. Loads of 'em. Someone was raving to me the other day about the other one. Y'know, the one about two streets down the way?"

Ginny frowned again. The conversation was starting to lose her.

"I like this one fine, thanks. They make nice tights. I'm actually supposed to be coming her tommorrow with my flatmate so we can - "

"Don't."

The man had stopped smiling. Now those blue eyes were piercing right into hers.

"Don't go in to this shop tomorrow," he said plainly. "Go to the other one, two streets down the way. They do nice tights as well."

It wasn't a threat. That's the thing that confused Ginny most. His voice had gone low and firm, but not in the least bit malicious. If anything, it seemed closer to plea than a threat.

"Okay," she said to him.

The man's expression softened again. _Don't Worry Baby_ ended, and the arm went peacefully still. Sometime during their talk, the sun had set, and it had gotten pretty dark pretty quick.

"Right," said the man, putting away his metal device. "I think I'll make a move as well. Goodnight Ginny."

Ginny almost locked up in suprise and let him walk down the alley and out of sight.

"Hey!" she shouted, getting his attention. "How the hell did you know my name?"

"Oh, I'm psychic," the man grinned. "Dead psychic, me. Earlier today, I looked deep inside myself, in my mind's eye, and I was struck by the most unearthly premonition that we'd meet today." Ginny gaped at him. He nodded to her shirt. "I also predicted you'd be wearing a name badge."

Ginny looked down. Her nametag from work was indeed still displaying her name for all to see. She smiled despite herself, and looked back up to see the man had started walking down the alley again, into the shadows. But just before he disappeared, she shouted after him again, "You know, it's not fair if I'm wearing a namebadge and you're not?"

She heard him laugh, and while he didn't come back this time, she did hear him reply, "And I probably should. Most Doctors do."

An hour later, after running into the alley after him, after searching and shouting and not finding any trace of him, Ginny now sat on her couch, staring at her telephone. There was no way, she kept telling herself. No way at all. What are the odds having a conversation with friends about a Doctor they won't tell you about, then meeting a Doctor thirty minutes later? It wasn't possible. Of course it wasn't. So she decided she wouldn't call Harry, or tell Hermione. She decided not to add any more crazy theories to the mix. She decided to keep it to herself.

That is, until the next morning, when the department store they had been chatting behind blew up.

* * *

_End of Chapter Three_

* * *

**(A.N.) Before anyone calls me out in reviews, my headcanon is that Ginny knows the Beach Boys because of Harry or Hermione. Probably both. Because if somebody hadn't ever heard a Beach Boys song, you'd just have to do something about that, right? :D **


	4. Chapter 4

**(A.N.) Hey, I'm on twitter and tumblr now. Come and say hello! There's links in my profile. :D**

* * *

It was a day of missed meetings, on many levels.

Firstly, Harry left his cottage for work a little early that morning. If he'd spent longer in the shower, or cooked up a full English instead of just toast, then he would have been there when Ginny knocked on his front door, panicked and spooked by what had happened in her street that morning. But, alas, Harry had apparated only moments before.

Arriving at the Ministry of Magic, he made his way through the bustling Entrance Hall and towards the lifts, keeping an eye out in case he saw Hermione also heading up to her office. The lift took him to the second floor and the Auror office, where he was sat at his cubicle for barely five minutes before he was made aware of the location of someone he very much wanted to speak with. If he hadn't received this information, if he'd stayed at his cubicle and cleared the clutter from his desk like he'd planned, he would have seen Hermione arrive on the Auror floor with a message from Ginny. But, alas, Harry had whisked away and missed her.

Knockturn Alley was just plain not a nice place to be. It was a horribly narrow, twisting and turning parade of crumbling and unattractive buildings, infested with some of the most disreputable folk in the entire Wizarding world. Which is why, as a fully-fledged Auror now, Harry found himself there quite a bit.

On this occasion, this day of missed meetings, Harry ventured into Duggy Dungonan's barely legal enough to be open _Eccentric Elixrs_, a grubby potion emporium that (rumour had it) made any magical brew that a customer should ask for.

"Mr Dungonan?" Harry asked, stepping through the tall doorway and into the tiny shop.

From the counter wedged in between the bubbling potions on crudely constructed shelves, Duggy looked up with great scepticism. A heavily bearded fellow, with a great, tangled mane of hair, he had been on Knockturn Alley for enough years to know an Auror when he saw one.

"Aye?"

Harry smiled tightly, and approached the desk.

"I wonder if you can help me?"

"What you were aft'r?" said Duggy gruffly.

"The wherabout of a Mr Yeopald Twosons," said Harry, not smiling anymore. "But I've heard most people call him Yip the Yelper these days."

Duggy narrowed those crazy brown eyes of his.

"Can't help ya."

"Do you know him?"

"I said I can't help ya, laddy," Duggy repeated, with a hint of a growl this time. "Now be on ya way."

Harry huffed. "Look, taking you down to the Ministry is just a paperwork nightmare. But if it's the only way to get you to talk then..."

Duggy shrugged indignantly. "How comes I even hav'ta answer ya anyhow?"

"Okay, first of all – Flourish and Blotts, right down the road. Buy a dictionary. Secondly, I have three witnesses that say they saw you and Yip enjoying a drink in the Pixie's Wings Pub on Tuesday. So you must know him."

"Well, I don't," said Duggie stubbornly.

"I have witnesses that say otherwise."

Duggy fixed him with those crazy eyes again, squinting and suspicious. "Your lyin' to me."

Harry forced himself not to smirk. "Yeah? Why do you say that?"

"Because there was only two other people in the bar when we was there on Tuesday, so you couldn't have three wit..."

Harry quirked an eyeborw. Duggie trailed off. He rolled his eyes.

"Bollocks," he grunted.

Harry sent word to the Ministry, and within minutes, a team of six Aurors had apparated into _Eccentric Elixirs. _There, Harry set up a trap. He instructed Duggy to send an owl to Yip the Yelper asking him to meet him at his store as soon as possible. For his co-operation, Duggy was allowed to walk free; and walk he did, not wanting any part in a Auror sting operation. He did, after all, have a terrible reputation to uphold.

Harry's heart raced. This was the first time he'd been allowed to take the lead on such an important investigation. Those few moments - standing behind the counter at _Eccentric Elixirs_ disguised in Duggy's large hooded coat, watching the clock steadily approaching Yip and Duggy's agreed meeting time – were an adrenaline rush like Harry had not had in years.

Eventually, the door to the shop creaked open, and in walked an awfully tall, awfully thin, awfully awful looking man. His thinning hair was once as yellow as his teeth, and his face was decorated with an assortment of scars. He stared at the hooded figure behind the counter with a pair of eyes so uncaring they didn't even bother to share the same colour pupils. Yip the Yelper had come as expected.

"What is so important?" he sneered, "that you have to call me down here in broad daylight. Knockturn Alley or no Knockturn Alley, it still isn't wise for me to be out and about like this, y'know?"

"You're right," said Harry, raising his head to smile at Yip. "It really isn't wise at all."

Yip blanched. His hand shot to his waist where his wand was, but another figure burst out from behind the shelves, wand already at hand.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Yip's wand soared from his grasp. He let out a growl of frustration and ran for the door. Coming out onto Knockturn Alley, he found himself face to face with five large, surly looking Aurors and their wands.

Harry jumped over the counter and came to stand next to him.

"Hello, Yip!" he said brightly. "You know, I've been wanting to talk to you for the longest time."

"Potter," Yip spat. "You think you're so clever."

Harry laughed. "I can't even believe you've just said that. Could you be more cliché? Boys, take him away. Oh, look, now you've got me doing it!"

One of the Aurors conjured some ropes that tied Yip's hands behind his back, and together they led him away from Knockturn Alley, leaving only Harry and Davart, the Auror who had disarmed Yip.

"That went well," he said.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Perfectly." He frowned as soon as the words left his mouth.

"What?" asked Davart, seeing his expression change.

"Something's up," said Harry gravely. "This was too easy."

Davart sighed heavily. "I hate that there's a version of easy that only causes more trouble."

Harry turned to him. "We've been looking for this guy for weeks, thought we had him so many times only to miss him by minutes," he looked up at the front of _Eccentric Elixirs_, "and this is how we get him?"

Reluctantly, Davart's face turned troubled too, and he felt the need to repeat Yip the Yelper's parting words.

"_You think you're so clever_" he said.

Harry furrowed his brow. "Did he want us to catch him?"

"I'll go ahead," said Davart quickly, "tell them to put him in lockdown as soon as they get him in the Ministry."

"I'll finish up here and follow you."

It was a few minutes later, as Harry locked the door of Duggy's shop and found his mind rushing through every possible reason Yip the Yepler would allow himself to be caught, that he he remember Hermione's words to him the previous evening. Perhaps he was jumping to conclusions lately. Had he somehow fallen back into the his war-time mindset, looking over his shoulder every second and questioning everyone's motive? But, he reasoned, when it came to dangerously dark wizards like Yip the Yelper, wasn't that his duty as an Auror? To be suspicious, to consider every possible outcome?

He looked around. The sun had set while he was inside _Eccentric Elixirs_, and Knockturn Alley was now a deserted street covered in darkness. Harry walked the filthy cobbles, still arguing with himself, but looked up when he heard a muffled smashing noise from close by.

He came to a halt. The noise had come from the shop he was next to: _Garlin's_. But he was almost sure that _Garlin's_ had been closed down months ago for selling werewolf hairs.

He walked to the window and peered inside. All he could really see where the shadows of bookshelves and glass cabinets. Nothing out of the ordinary. He was about to put it down to his imagination and carry on, when he saw it. In the back of the shop, the moonlight coming through the window glistened off a shattered glass chalice. He looked up, to the shelf where it had fallen from, and saw it glinting off something else too.

A head was peeking through the empty space on the shelf where the chalice had been. But most striking was the fact that it appeared to be a face made of metal.

Harry watched the head turn sharply and disappear. It knew it had been seen.

He rushed for the door, said a quick "_Alohamora_" and ran inside. With his wand held out in front of him, he looked sharply around the dark, dusty shop. He came to the shelf and the broken chalice, checked behind it and found nothing. He stared all around the shop, furiously moving aside the various cases and cabinets, but finding nothing.

A floorboard creaked behind him. He turned to the back of the shop. The moonlight shone against the far wall, and Harry froze solid at what he saw. A silhouette of a looming, towering figure was visible. There was a corner that led to the back area of the shop, and something was obviously hiding there. He could make out a strange bar on top of the shadow, stretching over the head to connect one ear to the other.

Harry aimed his wand.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

The shadow drew away instantly. Harry jumped over the shop décor in his way, scrambling towards the back of the shop. He burst around the corner, wand at the ready, but, alas, found nothing. Only a dead end, except for a window through which the guilty moonlight wafted.

* * *

Gaining access to the Auror offices of the Ministry of Magic is no easy feat. There are endless forms to fill out, background checks to be completed, and even then most people are denied. Ginny Weasley, however, was free to come and go as she pleased, as was any of the heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts.

So none of the Aurors paid much attention when they spotted her sitting at Harry's desk. But she noticed them. She had seen them dragging a tall, pale gentlemen through the floor and towards a room behind a heavy, iron door. Then she saw them, every Auror on duty, hang around outside this door and whisper mysteriously with each other.

But then the Auror she was waiting for arrived, and she forgot all about this.

"Hey," she said, standing up to greet Harry when she saw him striding towards her.

"Hi," he replied. "Problem?"

Ginny laughed weakly. "Err... Not sure. Something really weird happened last night, and then again this morning. And when you put them together they make something really, realy weird." She stopped before getting in specifics, because for the first time she had really looked at him. He looked shaken. His gaze was switching between here, the heavy iron door the Aurors were outside of, and various random points around the room. "Are you okay?"

"Hmm?" said Harry distractedly. "Oh, yeah. Fine. Honestly. Fine."

Ginny studied him. "Are you lying?"

"Totally," he nodded in apology. "I think I can rival your tale of weirdness. But I can't talk now. There's a dark wizard waiting to speak with me."

"Well, that'll be new for you," Ginny quipped.

Harry grinned despite himself. "I'll come round to the flat later?"

Ginny shook her head. "You can't. The Police are only letting residents past the tape." This finally gave her Harry's full attention, as he frowned deeply at her. "Like I said, weird story. Just give me a shout when you're done here."

They exchanged a quick kiss and she left, and Harry tried to calm the tide of speculative thoughts running through riot in his mind. He had to focus on the job at at hand.

"What's he said?" he asked, making his way over to the Aurors.

"Nothing," said Davart wearily. "He's waiting for you."

Harry sighed. "Great," he said.

Davart opened the big, iron door and went inside. Before following, Harry turned to one of the Aurors.

"Reynolds," he said. "_Garlin's_ has been closed for months, right?"

Reynolds seemed taken aback by the question, but nodded confidently. "Yeah. He's in court next month, might even end up going to Azkaban."

"And no one's taken over the shop? No one's been inside it since he was arrested?"

"Not that I know of." Reynolds saw Harry's uncertain expression, and added, "I can check up on it, if you want?"

"If you wouldn't mind," Harry asked.

Reynolds nodded again and walked off to his cubicle. Harry turned back to the doorway, and stepped inside.

Yip the Yelper sat restlessly in his seat. Though it served the same purpose as what muggles referred to as an interrogation room, the Window Chamber was much more feared. The walls were pitch black, as was the floor. The table in front of the subject was bare. There were absolutely no windows of a physical nature. The Window Chamber was so named because of the only defining feature of the room. Floating above the table, just for the subject to see, was a glimpse at Azkaban at that current moment. Though the wispy little orb, the subject was treated to a prime view Wizard Prison, as rain thundered down upon it. A window into their next destination, unless they were willing to co-operate.

"Yip," said Harry, coming to sit next to Davart across from their guest. "We meet again."

Yip didn't answer. Close to him now, and under the glare of the image ofAzkaban, Harry saw him to be very pale. Much more so than earlier. His eyes were watery. His hands were shaking. Harry knew Azkaban was still a very feared place, that's why it's image hovered in this room for all the Ministry's adversaries to see. But from all he'd learned in their investigations, he did not peg Yip the Yelper as such a soft case.

"I know we only made your acquaintance today," said Davart, "but it really feels like we know you already."

Davart flicked his wand and, below the ghost of Azkaban, a piece of parchment appeared out of thin air, also floating before Yip. Writing began to inscribe the parchment, while Davart read aloud.

"Yeopold Twosons, aka Yip the Yelper. Wanted for the questioning regarding the heist at _Gavroche's Quality Wand Makers_ in the south of France, previously thought to have unbreachable security enchantments in place. Also wanted in connection with the scandal at the Irish Quidditch League Cup final, where a bewitched quaffle somehow came to be the official game ball in what is suspected as a match fixing scheme. Furthermore, the Covent of the Serenely Silent Witches in Prague have photographic evidence of Twoson's somehow apparating and disapparating into their sacred garden and cutting the leaves of their fabled and pricless weeping lillies."

Yip's rap sheet hung before him damningly, but he did not blink. In fact, he wasn't even paying it the slightest bit of attention. He just stared between Harry and Davart, chest rising and falling rapidly. His shaking hands were getting worse, and his mouth was clamped shut, as though if he open it he might be sick.

Harry leaned forward to look him in his eyes. There was, unquestionable, something just plain wrong about them. Firstly, Yip seemed to have heterochromia, with one of his eyes being brown while the other was blue. And aside from the dead stare coming out of them, Harry just could not shake the feeling that they were somehow familiar; impossible, as this was the first time he and Yip had ever met.

"Evidently, Yip," said Harry. "You have a talent for getting into places people shouldn't be able to get into. And this is especially worrying, seeing as we've heard from quite a few of our best sources that you have recently displayed a sudden and intense interest in Hogwarts."

He still expected a retort to come any second – Yip was said to have a notoriously quick-tongue. But he merely sat there, visibly rattled but entirely silent. Harry glanced to Davart, and they shared a strange look.

"Hogwarts," Davart pressed on, "is said to be impenetrable. Nothing gets in there that isn't supposed to. But that's also been said about most of the places you seem to hang around. So we're keen to know, how exactly are you planning on getting into the most secure building in Britain?"

"And more to the point," said Harry, fixing Yip with a stern gaze, "what's in there that you're so interested in?"

And still, Yip showed no signs of answering. His eyes, bigger and wider now, were still switching between the Aurors in front of him, snapping from Harry to Davart at an alarming pace. His breaths were audibly sharp and rapid, and finally words crawled up his throat and he spat them out.

"You think you're so clever."

Harry and Davart stared at him blankly. They shared another look of confusion.

"You've left quite a trail," said Davart, gesturing at the list of offences in front of him. "You don't have to be a genius to work it out."

A painful-looking smirk cut across Yip's face.

"You think you're so clever," he said again.

Harry was getting edgy now. Something here just wasn't right.

"We've established that," he said. "Now, we've got enough evidence to send you straight to Azkaban. How long you stay there is up to you. We know you were working for someone with this Hogwarts stuff. You're always working for a third party client. So you point us in their general direction, and one day you might see a different sky than the black one that never leaves that place." He pointed the image of the monstrous building in the rain.

Yip gazed at him in amused wonderment for a second. Then, quite suddenly, he burried his face in his hands and started taking deep, ragged breaths.

"You... think you're so... _clever!_"

"Yip," said Harry, worry creeping into his voice now. "Look at me."

Yip looked up, staring at Harry with those brown eyes and -

"Wait a second..." said Harry, gazing at Yip's eyes in horror.

"What?" said Davart.

"His eyes," said Harry. "They've changed colour."

Previously brown and blue, Yip the Yelper's pupils had somehow changed entirely to brown. And before they could even speculate as to how that had happened, other parts of him started to change too. His thinning hair was growing, changing from a faded blonde to a raven black. On his face, a beard grew out of nowhere, spiralling off his chin and down his chest. Wrinkles formed on his forehead until his face was suddenly thirty years older than it had been a minute ago.

And in the time it took to blink, there was an entirely different man sitting in front of Harry. He knew why Yip's eyes had looked so familiar – it was the same crazy stare he'd been subjected to earlier in the day.

"Duggy?!" said Harry in disbelief.

Duggy Dugonan stared at Harry helplessly.

"So clever," he croaked.

"You said you knew where he was!" said Davart jumping to his feet.

"I only knew he'd left so he wasn't part of the arrest," Harry replied. "How has this happened?"

"Polyjuice," said Duggy hoarsely. "Yip... was wise to the letter. He was waitin' for me when I left the shop and he... polyjuice poiton... he... so clever..."

"I don't understand," said Harry. "You let us arrest you? You came in asking for Duggy."

Duggy could only give an feeble shake of his head and sob the word, "Imperius."

Things got worse. Duggy started to cough and splutter, and then convulse.

"Harry," said Davart. "Polyjuice potion and the Imperius curse – they _do not_ mix well!"

Duggy fell from his chair and collapsed to the floor. Davart shot out of the room calling for help, while Harry rushed to pick Duggy's head up from the concrete floor, horrified to see him frothing at the mouth.

"Duggy," he said, loudly and clearly. "Listen to me. Where did Yip go? Who is he working with?" Duggy coughed and heaved, unable to form any coherent speech. "Duggy, we're going to get you help, but you have got to tell me who he's in league with! Who is he trying to get into Hogwarts for?"

Duggy clenched his eyes closed and focused all his strength.

"Metal," he said. "They were made of metal."

* * *

_End of Chapter Four._


	5. Chapter 5

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries spent most of that day being very much _not_ overflowing with Ministry officials. But then, all of a sudden, it was.

The patient had been rushed through the hallways in a blur of healers, Aurors and onlookers. They cleared an entire ward for what St Mungo's staff were only told was a person of interest. It didn't matter why he was of interest to the Ministry of Magic, all that mattered was that they were tasked with keeping him alive.

Nevertheless, after a relatively quiet day, the hospital was now crawling with Ministry staff. It took Hermione a good twenty minutes just to get close to the closed ward, even with a Ministry ID. And when she did make it onto that corridor, crammed with Government officials talking hurriedly about what procedure said they should do next and who should give the press statement and those sort of things; what she saw just about broke her heart.

He was sat on a bench outside of a room at the end of the hall, slumped against the wall, staring blankly ahead. Looking as though the source of everything terrible that had ever happened in the world could be traced right back to him. She never thought she'd have to see Harry looking like this again. Not after Hogwarts.

She pushed her way over to him.

"Hi."

He looked up at her, and for a brief second seemed so happy to see a familiar face. But that soon faded.

"He's dead, Hermione. They couldn't save him."

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a tender squeeze. She briefly searched for perfect words, settling on: "Let's get some tea."

They apparated back to the Ministry, and Hermione led Harry to her department's offices, directing him towards her cubicle while she fetched their drinks. It was here that the day's events; the arrest, interrogation and tragic death of Duggy Dungonan; should have fully hit him, but that isn't what happened.

Instead, Harry found himself staring at a featureless face. Sitting in the chair at Hermione's desk was some sort of mannequin, the pale plastic of the dummy clashing horribly with the ghastly uniform it had been dressed in. It was a blazer and skirt combination, coloured with the brownest of browns and the brightest green. And despite his harrowing afternoon, Harry somehow ended up gazing at this poor creature in sadness until he heard Hermione gasp at the sight of it.

"Terrence, I've told you before, that's not funny!"

She steadied the two steaming mugs she'd almost dropped and sent a death glare over the walls of her cubicle. Her colleague, Terrence, hastily came around to heave the dummy out of her chair, a big grin playing across his face as he did.

"Sorry, I just thought if you got used to it you wouldn't mind it so much."

Harry quirked an eyebrow as Hermione sat in her vacated chair.

"What was that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Our new uniform, or so they're proposing. I'll die a death before I give in to that demonic thing. Anyway, never mind that."

Harry again felt the sting of Duggy's death, momentarily forgotten but back with a vengeance. Hermione handed him his mug with a worried look.

"What happened, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "Yip was one step ahead of us. He always has been. He knew what we were trying to pull with Knockturn Alley, and turned it against us. Forced polyjuice potion on Duggy, put him under the Imperius curse to surrender himself without a fight. Duggy had a bad heart anyway. It couldn't take the transformation from the polyjuice, and then trying to fight off the Imperius curse as well...it just gave out on him."

Hermione leant forward to put her hand over his.

"This wasn't your fault." she said.

Harry ignored this. "The trail's gone cold. Yip could be anywhere, he could be conjuring himself inside Hogwarts any day and we're in no position to stop him."

"But Harry," said Hermione, patting his hand. "This wasn't your fault."

Harry sighed. Hermione always saw right through him. But then the other thing gnawing at Harry came to mind.

"There's more," he said, dropping his gaze. "Something I haven't told you. Or anyone."

Hermione squeezed his hand again gently. "What?"

Harry hesitated. He had a feeling how Hermione might react, and yet he needed to get this off his chest before it burst out of it.

"When we arrested Yip," he started, "or who we thought was Yip, anyway - something happened in Knockturn Alley. There was a face, looking at me from inside _Garlin's._"

"I thought _Garlin's_ has closed down," said Hermione, puzzled.

Harry nodded. "It has. But someone was in there. Or something."

Her mood evaporated like the steam coming from their mugs. Before he knew it her hand had left his, and she slowly drew back to sit up straight in her chair.

"Something?" she repeated.

"I couldn't see very well, I could only make out a face. But like weirdly shaped? And metal – made of metal! Then later, just before Duggy..." Harry stumbled. That wound was still fresh. "I asked Duggy who Yip was working with, who was paying him to get inside Hogwarts. And all he could say was that they were men made of metal."

Hermione said nothing. She was just staring at Harry pointedly. He paused, and decided that maybe he needed to drive his point home.

"Hermione, I think this – Duggy, and Yip, and whatever the metal men are, and Hogwarts– it's all got something to do - "

"It has nothing to do with the lights."

She had cut him off so swiftly that Harry could only stare at her for a second, mouth still stuck in the middle of his sentence.

"How can you just say that?" he asked.

"Because it just doesn't, Harry. You're doing it again. You're doing exactly what we talked about yesterday."

"Things have changed quite a bit since yesterday," came his offended retort. "A man was just murdered in front of me!"

"You are an Auror now," Hermione replied, just as heatedly. "That's going to be happening from time to time, and when it does you can't turn it into some big conspiracy."

The sound of flapping wings cut short their escalating argument before either said what they really wanted to. A small tawny owl flew into the office and soared over to Harry, where it dropped an envelope in his lap. He quickly opened it and frowned at what he saw.

"What?" asked Hermione.

"It's from Ron and Ginny," he said.

As the letter instructed, they quickly left the Ministry and apparated to the fields around Harry's cottage. When they reached the house, they found Ron and Ginny sitting on the step outside his front door.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, seeing how grim both Weasleys looked.

"Harry," said Ginny, startled. Both she and Ron jumped to their feet. "Harry I was letting myself in but the door was already open. And when I saw, I sent for Ron and we... oh, Harry, I'm sorry."

Ron merely stepped aside and pushed lightly on Harry's door. It opened with noticeable ease, and then Harry saw where the handle once had been, which was now a burnt-black hole.

Inside, Harry's house had been trashed. From top to bottom, everything that wasn't nailed down had been torn from it's place and tossed across the room. The table in his kitchen had been over turned, the shelves in his lounge had been ripped out, and the mattress in his bedroom had been thrown against the wall. And yet, as he surveyed the mess, he noticed something.

"Nothing's been taken," he said, coming back downstairs into the living room, where the other three were attempting a clean up.

"Well, that's something," said Ginny softly.

"No, I wasn't pointing out the bright side. I'm saying it doesn't make any sense. Who breaks into a house, turns it upside down, then doesn't take anything?"

Ginny and Hermione gave each other that infuriatingly patronizing look from opposite ends of the living room.

"If you think I'm being crazy," said Harry crossly, "just come out and say it."

"Harry, look," Ginny started, but Harry quickly cut her off, crossing the room to point out the drawers that had been torn away and emptied, with their contents now lying on the floor next to them.

"If nothing is gone then it means that whoever did this came here looking for something in particular, and they weren't leaving until they were positive they weren't going to find it."

"Harry," said Hermione sharply, coming to stand right in front of him. "Think this through. Think of all the logical reasons, each more likely than whatever it is you're concocting. You're still a very public figure, you're on the front page when you go out for milk. People get _really_ excited at the thought of you. Isn't it entirely more probable that some fans found out where you live and things got out of hand? Or that burglars remembered they were robbing the Boy Who Lived and got spooked? You can't just jump to the assumption that this all something to do with strange lights, aliens and the Doctor."

Harry clenched his jaw and turned away, lest he say something rash in an effort to defend himself. There was a broken photo frame lying at his feet. He picked it up, and found himself looking at his mother and father. They gazed at him lovingly, and his father gave him a reassuring nod. Harry gripped the edges of the photo.

"If I know anything," he said, "after all this time, it's when to spot red flags. And this is a big, massive, flying one. First the lights, then the Doctor after all this time, then Duggy, then whatever I saw in _Garlin's."_ Hermione, to his frustration, was shaking her head in denial. "It's all part of something Hermione! Something is happening around me, and I don't like it."

Hermione took a deep, long breath to calm herself, and turned to her boyfriend for assistance. "Ron, please, try and talk sense to him."

Ron shrugged as he turned Harry's couch the right way up. "Actually, I'm with Harry on this one."

Simultaneously, Hermione yelled "What?!" while Harry cried "Yes!", and he ran over to hi-five his best friend.

"Ron, how can you say that?" asked Ginny.

"Look, I trust his instinct," said Ron confidently. "The lights were one thing, Hermione, but all this... I don't know. If he says something's about to go down, I believe him. And with everything that's happened, how much of a coincidence is it really that the Doctor suddenly pops up again?"

"This is madness," mumbled Hermione. At the mention of the Doctor, however, Ginny's mouth had very much remained closed, and she too started to question the chances of this all being happenstance.

"Thanks, buddy," said Harry happily.

Ron grinned. "No problem, mate."

"Oh yes," said Hermione. "What friend wouldn't help his bestie to be pointlessly paranoid? Shall Ginny and I go and round up some more wild geese for us to chase after we're done with this one?"

"Actually, Hermione," said Ginny slowly, "if Harry says he's sure, then maybe there is..."

That was the last straw.

"Okay, I'm going home," Hermione snapped. "I won't listen to another word of this."

She had turned and started storming for the door when Harry stopped her.

"Everything that's happened to us," he said. "Everything we've been through. You stood by me for every single second of it. Even if sometimes you didn't understand, or think I was going about it the right way. You trusted me. Why won't you trust me on this?"

"_Because we're not at war anymore, Harry!_"

There was silence. Harry stood in the corner of the room, taken aback. Hermione stood by the door, breathing heavily and past the point of keeping her thoughts to herself. Ron and Ginny, stunned, could only look between the too.

"We fought," said Hermione. "We fought, and we fought, and we fought. And then we won. And now it's over. No more vendettas, no more prophecies, no more destiny. You're not public enemy number one anymore, you're just a normal person. A normal person who has break-ins. A normal person who sees strange things now and then and leaves them be. A normal person who runs into old friends after so many years."

"So basically," said Harry, "you want me to just sit around in my cottage, is that it? Grow wheat and tend corn and be a farmer? Well I'm not, I'm an Auror, and because of that - "

Ron took a step forward. "Okay maybe we should leave this conversation until everyone's a bit more -"

"This has nothing to do with you being an Auror," Hermione countered, "and you know it. This is about you not being able to move on. You are stuck in a wartime mentality and it's not healthy. Why do you think you're so desperate to meet the Doctor again, Harry? Because you know he only brings chaos! And you don't know how to function outside of chaos!"

Harry looked livid. "How can you even say that to me! You know first hand all I ever wanted was - !"

"Okay's that's enough!" said Ginny firmly. Both of their voices had reached a volume that she and Ron were not comfortable with, and clearly they had to step in. She grabbed Harry by the hand. "Let's go upstairs, okay? Calm down a bit."

Harry looked at her, then glanced back to Hermione, who now had Ron by her side also. She stared back, almost daring him to keep arguing. Ginny squeezed his hand silently, and he gave in. Together, they walked across the room and towards the stairs. And as he put his foot on the first step, Harry was relieved the situation had been stopped before someone said something they couldn't take back.

"This is what Voldemort wanted."

Too late.

Harry had frozen in place. Ginny had turned back to gawk at Hermione, just as Ron was doing, as if unable to believe such a thing could come from her mouth. But Hermione wasn't finished.

"Till his last breath," she said, "he tried to take any chance of a normal life away from you. He tried to make sure that you never got to live anything other than pain and suffering, or a life outside of him and his war. And I just can't stand by now and watch you take that from yourself. People gave too much, Harry."

Harry still hadn't moved. Hermione waited. Her fire was all used up, leaving her only able stare at him silently, hopefully, desperately praying she'd somehow gotten through to him. But when Harry did turn back to her, it was with the most painfully digusted look he'd ever stared at anyone with.

"I think it's time for you to get out of my house."

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. She could do no more. The three of them watched her open the door and leave without another word. Harry stayed where he was until he heard the _crack_ of her apparating, then he went upstairs.

"Bloody hell," Ginny breathed. "Have you ever seen Hermione and Harry argue like that?"

Ron shook his head sadly. "It was coming, though."

"How do you mean?"

"Hermione's been worried about Harry for a long time now. About how he copes with everything that's happened to him. She reads books on war survivors and their mental states. But she's never talked about it like that."

They each found themselves gazing in the direction their signifcant others had left, but when Ginny heard Ron going for the door, she had to ask something.

"Ron," said Ginny carefully. "Listen, about the Doctor."

Ron gave her a scolding look. "Seriously, Ginny? Now?"

"Just tell me this one thing, please. The Doctor, what did he look like?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know... young fella. Big, floppy hair. Wore a bow-tie and a tweed jacket."

Ginny frowned deeply. "You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," he replied. "Why?"

Ginny opened her mouth, ready to explain. Then she looked to the door, where Hermione had been.

"No reason," she said.

* * *

_Eccentric Elixrs_ was a mess. And while the same could be said for every shop in Knockturn Alley, the others were not being extensively robbed by a man ready for life on the run.

Yip the Yelper had searched every inch of his old 'pal' Duggy's pride and joy. He had taken anything he thought he might be able to make a profit on, and the rest had bee thrown aside. Smashed potion bottles littered the already grubby floor as he gathered up all his acquisitions in a big sack. He was giving the place one last look, when his eyes fell upon an empty vial he had left on the counter. It was the vial which had held the polyjuice potion he'd forced on Duggy Dungonan earlier that day, before cursing him into being arrested for Yip's own crimes.

And though it might have been terribly cliché, he found himself laughing. He laughed the cruellest of laughs, in the dark, empty and now barren potions shop, endlessly amused by the predicament his old drinking buddy must be in. Perhaps he was already en route to Azkaban, while Yip made off to pull one last big job (the biggest of jobs) before taking a well earned retirement.

"Here's to ya, Duggy," he said to one in particular. "You were a backstabber in the end, anyway."

He hoisted the sack up over his shoulder and turned towards the store entrance.

His path was blocked.

There, in the narrow doorway, was a man leaning against the door. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his brown overcoat, worn over a slightly-too-small pinstriped suit. His hair was all sticky-uppy. But most disconcerting to Yip the Yelper on that night, was his ridiculously large grin.

"'Allo," said the man.

Yip's hand had dove instantly for his wand, leaving the sack of valuables to drop to the floor with a unsettling _crash_.

"Who are you?" Yip demanded, thrusting his wand in the stranger's face.

"The Doctor," said the man brightly. "And you?"

Yip blinked. The man showed no signs of fear at the situation he found himself in – alone in the middle of the night in a deserted Knockturn Alley, at the mercy of an armed wildman.

"What are you doing here?" Yip snarled, jabbing his wand a little closer to the man's face.

The man – the Doctor, as he put it - glanced curiously at Yip's wand, inches below his nose.

"Well, it's a funny story actually, but I... sorry, why exactly are you threatening me with a small twig?"

Yip gave him a funny look. "Are you a muggle?"

Evidently these words filled a blank in the man's head, because suddenly he nodded in understanding.

"Riiight," he said. "Wizard, got it. Wand! Not twig." He shrugged. "Easy mistake."

"Shut up!" Yip spat, growing agitated now. "Now listen closely. I don't know who you are or what you want. Could have strolled in off the street or be from the bleeding Ministry of Magic itself. It doesn't matter. I'm gonna pick up this bag, and I'm gonna take my leave, and if you move a muscle, I'll curse your ears off. Got it?"

The Doctor looked puzzled. "Why the ears?" he asked. "Bit random, as far as explodable body parts go. I mean, for starters, you'd have to fire twice on target. Wouldn't the nose be a better choice?"

"_Shut up!_" cried Yip again.

"Alright, alright," said the Doctor. "Keep your pants on. I'm not here to stop what I'm certain was a meticulously planned robbery of this," he glanced around fleetingly. "ahem, lovely establishment. I'll get right out of your way."

Yip's eyes narrowed and the grip on his wand tightened, but the man merely shifted slowly out of the doorway, leaving it clear for his escape. Yip smirked at the man. "See you around, weirdo."

He dropped his wand, picked up the sack, and was just running out onto the street when he collided with another stranger. Only this person was carrying something in front of them.

"Doctor, never mind, I found the fishing net – _oof!_"

Yip the Yelper got all tangled up, tripped over his own feet, and fell to the floor in a heap, knocking himself unconscious as he did.

"Flippin' heck!" cried Rose Tyler. "Who's that?!"

The Doctor strolled out of _Eccentric Elixirs _and peered down at Yip's motionless body, rolled up in the old fishing net Rose had been holding. "A thief," he said breezily. "Or a would-be thief anyway. Nice catch. We'll leave him here for the proper authorities to find."

"A thief?" asked Rose. "Are we crime fighters or something now?"

The Doctor gave her a dazzling grin. "Were we ever not?"

They tied Yip securely to a lampost, and the Doctor found a discarded cardboard box which he fashioned into a tiny roof ("In case it rains. Don't want him getting a cold, do you?"). Rose scribbled "Please arrest me" onto a piece of paper and attached it to Yip's chest, and then they set off back to the TARDIS.

"You wanted to get a fishing net from here?" said Rose as they walked, giving a unimpressed look upon the shops they passed.

"Yeah," the Doctor admitted. "Good point. I'll find out where she's taking us next time, instead of just typing 'shops' into the console."

"Oh my god," said Rose suddenly. "Look at that."

She pointed upwards, and the Doctor quickly looked to the sky. The tips of the buildings leered over Knockturn Alley, but through the gap in between they could see a most unusual sight. There was a perfect formation of two dozen or so stars staring down at them. Noticeably brighter and bigger than the others in the night sky, these stars seemed to shine in the most unnatural of ways. Like a manufactured twinkle.

"What is it?" asked Rose.

"I really don't know," said the Doctor quietly. "And you know what? I'm overcome with this strange feeling that I'm not supposed to know. Not yet, anyway. You know?"

Rose chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Well, no, but in fairness I'm not a 900 year old Time Lord who's lived most of his life travelling through the endless reaches of the fourth dimension."

"That'd be why then," the Doctor nodded. Together, they gazed upon the unearthly alignment with great interest. "Still, something tells me it's not for us to worry about tonight. Allons-y."

They reached the TARDIS and Rose hurried inside, saying something about having to buy a new fishing net if they wanted to make the Art Attack exactly as they'd seen on the telly. But the Doctor hung back a second, turning his eyes once more upon the impossible sky above.

He knew they weren't stars, of course. That much was obvious. What they were coming for was another mystery all together, and one that would have to be dealt with another day, by whatever future version of himself eventually butted heads with it, this oncoming catastrophe filling up the night.

He smiled.

"I can hardly wait."

* * *

**(A.N.) There was a really long wait for this chapter for two reasons. 1) I got the new Animal Crossing game and as such my life ground to a halt. 2) I couldn't decide whether Harry and Hermione were in character or not when they were arguing. I'm still not sure, honestly. But I've tinkered with it long enough. Hope you like! :D**


	6. Chapter 6

**(A.N.) Okay, I suck so much for not updating. And this itself is not much of an update. Really, this is the first three pages of a much longer chapter, but the rest still needs work. So for now I'll just post this as a little interlude. A quiet moment between the tense end to the last chapter, and the madness that will kick off in the next one. **

**Thanks for sticking with me even though I'm just the worst. :D**

* * *

The problem was that everyone thought they were being sneaky.

**T**hey watched the Potter man every waking minute of his life. They saw everywhere he went and everyone he spoke to, and then they watched those people too. All in the belief that they were narrowing down the location, and would soon be able to sweep in and claim their prize before anyone else.

Delusions of superior intellects kept them from realising that everyone else was doing the same thing. The moment one ship made a move, there would be twenty more behind it.

Things were reaching a fever pitch. Everyone was growing impatient. Soon there would be no more little recon excursions. Soon they were all going to try their luck, make a move, and then run into each other. And that was when the real trouble would start.

* * *

Hermione had a secret, one even those closest to her had no idea about: Sometimes, she still rode the bus to work.

Not the grandest of revelations, true. But on the other hand, a grown witch taking muggle transport over floo powder or apparition would probably be cause for concern in the magical community. And yet, especially on mornings like that one; cold, dreary, and with the thoughts of a huge blowout with Harry playing on her mind; Hermione cherished the return to simplicity.

She was the only one at the bus stop that morning, and so it was hard to find something else to occupy her mind and stop it from turning back to the not-so-simple subject of Harry. She was at war with herself, she supposed. The part of her fiercely loyal to Harry chastised her for the way she'd acted the night was she to know there wasn't something going on with these strange lights, she'd ponder? Maybe Harry was right about everything?

And yet she knew Harry. She knew he'd never adjusted to normal life. If these theories were coming from Ron or Ginny, she'd like to think she'd be more open to considering them. But Harry had never stopped expecting things like this to happen, expecting his life to be one big battle. He'd been waiting for something like this. That, more than any strange lights of talk of aliens, was the thing that fuelled her scepticism, the awful thought that perhaps he'd even been longing for it.

Footsteps brought her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see a man crossing the road and approaching the bus shelter. She scooted along the bench to give him room to sit down, but the man merely approached the timetable and examined it.

He was young gentleman, with glowing blonde hair and a frowny face. He stepped back towards the curb, peering up and down the street in puzzlement, before pulling a stop watch out of the long, beige coat he wore. He frowned at this too. And though she was pretending not to watch him, Hermione saw him turn to her.

"Excuse me?" he said. "Would you happen to be waiting for the five-past bus?"

She was more than happy to answer. The only thing that stopped her was the peculiar sight of a stick of celery, pinned to the man's coat. This knocked her off topic for a few seconds, but when she saw the man raise his eyebrows strangely, she swiftly collected herself and fought off a blush.

"Oh," she said quickly. "Sorry. Yes, I am. The five-past eight?"

The man did his frowny face again. "No," he said sadly. "The five-past nine."

He moved to pick up a discarded newspaper on the bench next to Hermione, as she checked her own watch.

"Oh," she said again. "Well, no then, sorry. You're a little early."

"Actually, I'm late," he said. "I wanted yesterday's bus." Upon her look of confusion, he helpfully held up the newspaper, pointed at the top of it, and gave her a pleasantly defeated smile. "Wrong date."

Hermione gave the man a polite, and maybe slightly restrained, smile. The man tossed the paper back onto the bench and looked to be on the verge of walking away, when something stopped him. His eyes had lingered on Hermione, until all plans of leaving were abandoned, and instead he took a step towards her.

"Rebellious or despondent?"

"I'm sorry?" asked Hermione.

"Well, someone like you waiting for the bus, it's sort of one or the other. You're either going against the grain or eager for time to think."

"Someone like me?"

The man nodded casually. "A witch."

Hermione sighed. The strange clothes began to make sense. "Sorry. Are you one our lot then?"

"Oh, no. I'm afraid I'm no Wizard."

Hermione frowned. "Then… who are you?"

"Aha," said the man, sitting down next to her. "Why is it that I rather think you were sitting here asking the same question of yourself?"

Hermione, entirely bewildered, simply stared at him. So he smiled again.

"Since I'm 25 hours later for my bus, it looks like I'm stuck here till I come up with another plan, so I might as well serve some use. What's troubling you?"

And if it were any other matter, Hermione wouldn't have spoken up. But, truth be told, she really _did_ need to get some of this off her chest. So…

"It's my friend," she said awkwardly. "Harry. He's… making things very difficult for himself and is too wrapped up to see that I'm trying to help him."

The stranger nodded. "I'm afraid I know the feeling."

"You've had friends with the same problem?"

"No, I was the friend with the problem," said the man with grin. Hermione chuckled. There was something about that smile, and those shining blue eyes. "Is he putting himself in danger, your friend?"

Hermione considered this. "Not physically. But mentally, he's not doing himself any favours. And I'm afraid he's going to do himself real damage."

"Maybe he needs to," said the man with a shrug. "No matter how much you want to help him, from experience I can tell you if someone is stubborn enough, letting them fall on their face is the only way to help."

"That isn't an easy thing for me to watch happen."

"Of course not. But in the long run, you're probably doing what's best."

"And until then?"

The man gave her another of those dazzling smiles. "Well, personally I've always found the Beach Boys to work wonders in times of great distress."

Hermione laughed. "The Beach Boys. I'll have to remember that."

The sound of her bus coming down the road brought her to her feet. When it had stopped, she halted for a second on the step, turning around to give her strangely helpful new friend a genuine smile.

"Thanks for listening,"

The stranger gave her a reassuring nod. "Brave heart," he told her.

The Doctor watched her bus drive down the street and out of sight, deciding that pleasantly serious conversations with humans he'd never met before were amongst his favourite things. As he walked away, he made a wish that all worked out well for the young witch and her friend Harry.

…and then he stopped suddenly.

A witch? An intelligent, brown haired witch with a stubborn friend named Harry?

He turned back to the bus shelter with a guarded gaze.

"I wonder," he said quietly. "What are the odds of that?"

* * *

_End of Chapter Six_


End file.
